


Thunderstorm

by orphan_account



Series: Shimmer [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Erestor's lips meet his it doesn't feel like an electric jolt. Lindir had thought it might, before their first time, because loving Erestor is like holding a thunderstorm in his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorm

When Erestor's lips meet his it doesn't feel like an electric jolt. Lindir had thought it might, before their first time, because loving Erestor is like holding a thunderstorm in his arms. He could destroy Lindir, if he wanted, could hit him with a lightning bolt and smash his heart into a thousand pieces and leave him lying broken in the dust. But he doesn't. 

He doesn't, and Lindir doesn't know why. 

Because although Lindir loves Erestor, Erestor does not love Lindir. He's bedding Elrond, he's bedding Melpomaen, he recently started bedding Glorfindel, how could he love Lindir as Lindir loves him? (Lindir plays innocent with Erestor, but he knows exactly what his lover does on the nights that they do not spend together.)

Lindir doesn't mind, not much. Erestor has never lied to him, never gone behind his back. Lindir has never asked because knowledge is not as painful as having the words spoken aloud, and Erestor has never spoken of it because he knows this, but it is clear what this is. 

And what it is, is not love. 

 

Lindir shoves these thoughts to the back of his mind. He will dwell on their relationship later, when Erestor's fingers are not tangled in auburn hair, when Erestor's arm is not curved around his slender waist, when Erestor's hips are not flush against his own. For now, he will focus on his lover, his thunderstorm. 

He's backed up against the bed now and Erestor's hands have moved to the laces of his tunic, so he lifts his own hands and opens Erestor's heavy black robe.

His lover is gorgeous, milky pale in the moonlight from Lindir's open window, dark hair cascading down his back as Lindir undoes the careful braids and runs his fingers through it. 

Lindir is entirely bare and Erestor still cloaked, and they haven't broken apart and breathed for several minutes. It doesn't matter. Erestor matters, nothing else. 

He falls backwards onto the bed, Erestor's hands on his shoulders pinning him down, and they've barely even started but Lindir has stopped calclating, stopped rationalizing, stopped thinking. 

He is holding a storm in his arms, and it is glorious.


End file.
